That Loving Touch. Ashley Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ beam. She ignored the nausea spiraling through her like a miniature whirlwind. She’d already discovered that morning sickness could strike at any time.

      In a few short months she’d be a parent. A single parent.

      Carrie acknowledged her fear of caring for a baby alone. But the baby mustn’t know it. A baby must have complete confidence in its mother. “Don’t worry, my love,” she murmured, spreading a gloved hand over the quilted fabric covering her stomach. “I’ll take care of us.”

      As if mocking her brave assertion, another wave of dizziness hit her. She waited it out, then slowly began moving again. According to her directions, the road followed the perimeter of the lake, with a horseshoe curve looping around the camp itself. It shouldn’t be long now; she was already on the loop. “Soon, baby, very soon, I promise,” she whispered.

      Rounding a curve, Carrie saw the first cottage. She stopped, surprised. Lights flickered through the swirling snow. Elation zinged through her—someone else was here! She was cold, tired and in need of human contact. Although her own cabin was farther down the lane, she veered toward the one directly ahead, drawn like a moth to the warm, golden radiance spilling from several windows.

      

      Sam Holt tossed another log on the fire, creating a shower of sparks and sending blue smoke curling up the chimney and out into the night. When tongues of flame began licking around the fragrant applewood, he closed the fire screen, then slung an arm along the mantle. A tall man clad in navy silk pajamas, he moved easily, but nervous energy in his taut body transmitted itself through drumming fingertips. He was edgy as a cat and he didn’t know why.

      Broodingly he stared into the fire. He wanted...oh hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. He was hungry, but not for food. What then? Not for female companionship; he could have that with a phone call. Their invitations filled his mailbox, cluttered up his answering machine. The usual holiday madness, he concluded cynically.

      He grimaced as the television blared its urgent message; only six more shopping days! Maybe that was the source of his malaise. Christmas was once a time of magic. Now it was just an excuse to spend money and throw parties.

      Sam jabbed the poker into a fire log. Feeling so jaded about something he’d once enjoyed—buying something special for a special someone—irritated the hell out of him. He used to enjoy the parties, too. Not anymore. He was fed up with the drinking, flirting, empty cocktail chatter and shrill laughter that fleshed out the elegant skeleton of a black-tie evening.

      And he’d had his fill of sleek, sophisticated women with soft voices and predatory eyes, Sam thought, giving the log another savage jab. That included his ex-wife, a willful, self-centered society belle who could lie so sweetly even the angels were fooled. She’d certainly fooled him with her sweet and supposedly innocent ways. But it didn’t take long to realize she was just like all the rest—vain, deceitful, untrustworthy.

      That sounded bitter and he was not bitter. Hurt and disillusioned, yes. Cautious as hell, yes. Maybe even a little screwed up. But not bitter. In his mind, the word equated to warped.

      Still, if any man had a right to be bitter, he did. What she’d done was unforgivable. Had it not been for her narcissistic self-indulgence, he’d have a child now, instead of this stabbing regret for what might have been.

      Sam was surprised that the memory was still so raw. But he’d always wanted a son. A daughter would’ve been nice, too, he reflected. The smile softening his mouth died in a flash of white-knuckled anger. Pure selfishness had kept Elysse from telling him she was pregnant! Her willowy figure was so important to her that she’d had an abortion before he even knew he’d fathered a child. He would never forgive her treachery.

      Well, at least the experience had toughened him, Sam philosophized. It had also wiped out the last vestige of feeling he’d had for his wife. Expelling a sigh, he replaced the poker. The large, high-ceilinged room, more lodgelike than cottage, seemed to crouch behind him, ruffling his neck hairs as the wind keened in its eaves. “Getting neurotic, Holt,” he muttered, turning on a tall, halogen lamp. Since he was too antsy to sleep, he might as well work awhile—

      Sam froze, so shocked at the knock on his door that he questioned his hearing. Who would be out on this miserable night? The sound came again, a soft rapping of gloved fingers. A prickle ran up his spine. He strode to the window to peer through snow swirling around the yardlight. No car. Unbelievable that someone could be on foot! Feeling curiously ambivalent, he veered to the door and unsnapped the safety latch.

      The door jerked open with a suddenness that made Carrie gasp. A tall man stood silhouetted against the blaze of light. Dazedly she looked up into narrowed blue eyes nearly hidden under locks of tousled dark hair.

      He stared, disbelief wreathing his rugged features. “What the hell!” he exclaimed.

      “Please, I need help:” Carrie grasped the door frame as his face swam in her vision. “My car’s in a ditch and I—” She swayed.

      “Good Lord!” Opening the door wider, he grabbed her arm. The wind fairly blew her inside. He slammed the door shut, then caught her shoulders to steady her. “Are you all right?” he asked sharply.

      The faint, heady scent of sandalwood struck Carrie’s nostrils. Another hard gasp intensified the masculine scent and drew it deep inside her. With great effort, she pulled herself erect and out of his grasp. Her heart thudded. Breathe, Carrie! “Y-yes, I’m all right.” Again, Carrie! “Just cold and tired, that’s all. My car’s about a quarter of a mile down the lane and it was tough walking.”

      “I bet it was! Let me help you off with your coat, get you warmed up—you look half-frozen.” He peered at the small face half concealed by the parka’s hood. His eyebrows, dark slashes against his tawny skin, knitted in a frown. “You sure you’re okay?”

      “I’m fine. I just need to rest and I’ll...be fine.” Carrie tried to speak firmly but the darkness was gathering. You will not faint, Carinne Loving, she warned herself, forcing a smile. “I’ll just keep my coat on, thank you...if I could get a lift to my cottage? It’s number eleven, the McKinney place.”

      “Yes, of course.” Bemused by her sudden appearance, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to get dressed.”

      Despite fatigue, Carrie smiled as she glanced at his tailored pajamas and bare feet. “I’ll wait,” she told the tall, blue-eyed stranger.

      “Well, at least take off that damp coat while you wait.”

      He sounded irritated; Carrie shed her coat. It fell to the floor. Neither noticed. She was preoccupied with trying to stay erect. He was staring at the rich auburn curls streaming around her flushed face.

      “What on earth are you doing out on a night like this?” he asked.

      “Just trying to reach my cottage,” Carrie said. When another surge of dizziness engulfed her, she grabbed his arm as her legs crumpled. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

      Carrie heard his startled exclamation, but she was beyond response. That appealing masculine face was the last thing she saw before falling headlong into a deep, black well....

      As rattled as he was, Sam caught her before she hit the floor. Blessing his good reflexes, he carried her to the couch and carefully laid her down. Her boots and pants’ legs were soaked. “What’d you’d do, go wading?” he muttered. “Miss?” He shook her shoulder. “Miss?”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ